An Unforgettable Feeling
by Steamy-x
Summary: Konan knows she's being wrongly treated, but she can't find the strength in herself to run away after the demise of her former partner. [Includes small forms of abuse. Don't like, don't read]


**A terrible fluff/abuse one-shot of Konan and Pain. If you do not like this sort of content, please refrain from reading. This was brought along when I needed to get something done. Hope you like rushed :) Enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. All characters belong to their rightful owner (Masashi Kishimoto).**

Purple posies danced in the summer breeze as her fingers glided along their merry petals. She could only hope that, one day, someone would come along as joyous and gleeful as the violet flowers in her wonderland of a garden. Brushing the grass stains from her knees, she tilted the can and sprinkled just enough to quench the dehydrated plants.

As the weight of the watering can unbalanced, her wrist moved along with it and nearly detached itself before she dropped the metal. Her flowers were crushed. Wilted. Dead. No longer giving her the life of song and hope. The hope that became demented along with the love of her life.

She patted her face dry with a cloth and hesitated to return to her constant life—having to repeat the same things over and over. One day, she knew the strings would come undone with her new partner. Perhaps those strings had untied themselves long ago. Still, she hung on in hope of someone pulling her up from the endless cavern depths.

The door creaked open as she stepped inside, and the man who claimed to love her had his legs crossed and eyes on her. She closed her eyes and intertwined her fingers to avoid another punishment like the last. He'd yell. He'd scold; her dress was in no condition to be worn, so she started to strip after removing her shoes.

Her eyes, still closed, stung in a feeble attempt to hide the incoming rush of tears. After nearly a decade, she'd think she'd the strength to endure his torment and retributions. But no. As her scarred hands and injured wrist went to unzip the dress, another pair glided alongside her waist. She didn't give in to the chills he gave her spine and, instead, focused on stripping herself of the dress.

The damn zipper wouldn't budge.

And so his hands made their way up, cascading the contusions along back and shoulders. His chin rested in the burrow of her neck, his steady breaths radiating softly against her skin in absolute need of a shower.

The tricks he pulled against her, oh the tricks he pulled. It wasn't long until he gave a near impossible demand, and she'd no choice but to follow. She bit her tongue to quiet the soft whimper bubbling in her throat.

His hands made their way below her breasts, ghosting over the the burning skin. The effect he had on her was unjust, but she couldn't deny the itch in between her legs. For her to admit she wanted sex, she knew he drugged her earlier or the day before.

Heavy hands slid over her erect nipples, igniting a soft pant, and continued their journey to her chin. He chuckled, low enough to sound identical to a groan, yet loud enough for her ears to catch.

She gasped as his warm tongue massaged below her earlobe, sucking and draining the muscle power in her legs. But his pelvis held her strong. Her hands almost dropped to receive maximum pleasure, but he whispered, a devilish chuckle first,

"Not until you finish."

Her fingers struggled to grip the zipper as his ferocious and astonishing movements caught her off guard. The tingling in between her legs became stronger, and an even more powerful drive powered down as his finger traced the drenched underwear. She sighed, not only from his gentle strokes, but from finally being able to down the zipper.

The worn garment slipped off her shoulders, and he stepped back for only a second to allow the dress to fall. Her body went into its own frenzy of goosebumps, and she tried to cover herself, knowing well enough how he saw her: the body of a disgusting, repulsive whore. And that was all she'd ever be in his eyes.

Faster, his fingers stroked and slid along her clit, nearly erupting a moan from the small woman. She let her head fall, her eyes level to the piercings throughout his entire body. Their eyes met. And in that small amount of time, she could've sworn the rounded eyes at least pretended to care. Eyebrows casted down in worry, lips slightly ajar, one hand massaging her bud while the other held her tight.

But then he dropped her. Her wrist crunched from the sudden fall, and she cried out. The act of having her wrist snap beneath her weight didn't make her cry as hard as his treatment did. She coughed and used her left arm to lift herself.

He chuckled, and she flinched before meeting his spine trembling gaze. He smiled, yes, but the pull in his eyebrows told her otherwise. His smile reversed into a snarl. No, it was more or less a frown. As hard as it was to believe, he wasn't upset or angry. The look he had could be no other feeling.

"You're scared," she whispered. And for the first time in their entire ten years, the words she spoke weren't forced. "Why?"

He turned away from her and sped into the bedroom.

She made a ways to follow him, but after a slammed door and the sound of a lock ensued, she remained on the floor and curled herself into a ball. Her lavender strands fell in front of her face as she cried. He hadn't physically pained her, but, for some reason, she couldn't pull her emotions together to do anything.

The mirror ahead of her reflected puffy, golden eyes, but she couldn't see much more. Her hand glided along the piercings he forced her to have, the nails he made her paint, and the colors he made her wear—red, white and black.

A feeling clouded her heart, similar to suffocation, but as time passed on, she remembered the unforgettable feeling:

Pain.  
_

 **Review, please. Review to help this terrible story. For every word you give, this story gets the help it needs oh, so desperately.**


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